The Dallas daily herald. [volume] (Dallas, Tex.) 1873-1887, 1887-11-16
Ehe Last Of the Cragshaws
Row York Graphic.

was twenty-three years old when her
mother died. She was twenty-five on
the very day that her unknd old ia
Their left her an orphan-an orphan
without friends--and the last OF the
New England Cragshaws.
1t was on Sunday that he died. He
was buried on Tuesday morning. Tues
day afternoon Lois Cragshaw walked
away from the lonely house that was
hers now down the road to the village.
She walked rapidly. as if with
q set purpose and her lips
worked as il her mind was
busy with words that we're soon to be
spoken. She met those that knew her,
but she did not see them, nor did she
seem to feel the looks OF wonder and
OF dsapproval bent on her by those
who had seen her standing that very
morning, mute, fearless and unmoved
by her fathers open grave.
She passed them all unheeding by.
Her steps quickened even more, and
the color rose to her cheeks as with
one who nears his end. Her breath
came fast as she sprang up the steps
OF the little brown shop that was
= really the only dollar-mark OF the vii
(nge. CHANGING around her, not at
he loungers who looked at her, but at
Ithe objects scattered on the narrow
shelves and counters, she fixed her
eyes on O. shelf that hid itself
in one dusky cornor away below
Others that were wider and more pre-
tentious. This seemed to be what
she sought, for her face softened lit
tie while it grew no less earnest, and
her strained muscles relaxed, and her
body showed more than her manner
that she was preparing to "wait her
turn"
One by one the waiting people, serv-
ed or satisfied with much staring,
turned away and gave to the next his
lawful rights. Some, it is true, went
no further than the doorway, where
they stopped to talk in low tones and
with many chances at Lois, but this
the brown old man who waited on
them seemed to understand and sym.
pathize with, for he paid no heed
to them, but walked at once to
where Lois Cragshaw stood. She did
net see him. Her eyes were fixed on
that little lower shelf, and she started
when he said to her-softly, for her
drawn, excited face almost frightened
him-"Well, Lois?" She started so
Awhen he spoke to her that he spoke
Axlin as to q child, with the quaver-
ling soitness OF an old man"
"Well, Lois, what can ] give you to-
dayY'
''That" she said, and pointed to
the little lower shelf.
The old man followed with his eyes
the direction of her finger. He bent
forward to look more closely in the
dusky corner at what the shelf con-
tanned.
"That!" said Louis again, as if he
had not heard her.
A tear came into the eye OF the kind
old man as he remembered what folks
had said OF her mother IN years gone
past. And he said to himself: "Poor
Lois! Her wits are gone, too, sure
enough"
"Thatl said Lois Cragshaw, leaning
over the stained and whitfield coun-
ter
eyes, yes, Lois gently spoke the
awed snop-keeper with an air OF light
ness he was far from feeling. But
there's moren one that here! Which
that would we have?"
1.-THE red one" she said. "The red
one next the blue one! Oh, don't We
see?"
Eyes, indeedy, indeedy. Sure enough
III give it vel Wait O. minute an I'll
dust the durt off fur ye," he said with
q glance at her black gown. "Sure
enough Lois, I'll give it to vel"
y Carefully turning his back upo her
he rubbed the covers OF small red
book with his big ginham handker-
chief, then slowly turned and gave it
to her. She was waiting, one hand
outstretched, the fingers twitching. in
the other hand was the purse she had
not<iorgotten, so strong was her de-
sire for possession. The gaping neigh
bors gasped as they saw the old strap
ped wallet, into which so many had
paid the ransom from a sharp bar
gain, but from which none could re-
member having wrested an extra cop
per.
"How much is it2" asked Lois in a
hot whisper.
The man shuddered little at the
thought Of a dead mans money so
soon coming into his till, but his
thrift cot the better OF bis supersu-
|tion.
"well, used to say dollar'n fifty,